


you and i nursing on a poison that never stung

by thisapathy



Series: come sink into me and let me breathe you in [8]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Carl is still angsty af over Rick, Kissing, M/M, Post-Break Up, Shooting lessons, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6368476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisapathy/pseuds/thisapathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can use my bow, dumb shit," Daryl says affectionately. He face breaks into a smile. A Daryl Dixon smile—lips in a straight line with just the corners of his mouth turned up—is a rare occurrence. Carl can count on one hand how many times he's seen one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you and i nursing on a poison that never stung

**Author's Note:**

> set in 6x14, post-Denise's death, pre-Carol's disappearance

So much shit has happened that Carl doesn't really know how to process it all: Rick killing Pete, Ron getting pissed over just about everything, the herd surrounding Alexandria, Ron trying to save his life by not letting him go out there, the herd getting inside the walls, Ron then trying to kill him. Meat ponchos, Sam getting eaten alive, Jessie being torn apart, Rick chopping Jessie's hand off. Ron stealing his gun when he loses balance, Ron pointing the gun at Rick, _not him_ , Ron accidentally firing the gun when Michonne stabbed him in the torso.

Everything after that is a blur. Carl remembers waking up to Rick speaking softly by his bed. He'd hoped that almost dying would change things with Rick for the better. But it didn't.

Rick's held his stance about them not getting back together. More interestingly, Rick has taken up with Michonne and now the person Carl used to love and trust is now someone he resents whether he wants to or not. So he spends some time with Enid but then Enid gets pissed at him because he won't kill walker Deanna, or whatever, so Carl just sticks to taking care of Judith and hanging around Alexandria not doing much of anything. He's on one of his usual walks around the loop when he spots Daryl outside working on his bike. He stops and hesitates before finally walking over.

Daryl glances up. "Hey," he says before Carl can get a word out.

"Hi," Carl says, stuffing his hands in his back pockets. "I didn't know you got your bike back."  
  
"Yeah, the only good that came outta all that shit. What're you doin'?"

Carl shrugs. "Nothing, really. I can't do much of anything anymore."

Daryl gives him a long look. "That ain't true."

"I just feel out of place, you know? Before when I got shot I was little so I couldn't do much anyway. But now when I'm old enough to work the walls or do rounds, my friend accidentally shoots me in the fucking eye."

"Ain't all bad," Daryl teases. "You get to wear that kickass white bandage over half your face."

"Thanks. I miss Ron," Carl says with a sad smile. "He was an asshole, but I miss him."

Daryl hums. "Miss my brother all the time and he's the biggest asshole I ever met, 'cept maybe the claimers. We don't get to pick 'n' choose who we miss."

"Ron was just... he was scared."

Daryl nods and continues doing whatever it is he's doing to his bike. Carl is curious, but if he asks and Daryl explains he won't understand anyway. Carl contemplates leaving, remembering all the times when he was younger and Daryl would snap at him to go find his parents. But things have changed, Carl only has Rick, and it's not like they're on the best of terms right now.

Daryl stands up suddenly and wipes his hands on the rag on the seat of his bike. "You gonna stick around?"

Carl shrugs. "Dad won't let me do anything, doesn't want me outside the walls alone."

"Y'all still not talkin'?"

Carl shakes his head and goes quiet. He's sure that he and Rick are over, for good. Carl understands why; he gets it. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like a motherfucker.

Sometimes at night Carl wakes up to what he thinks is Rick pressed against his back only to realize that it's the comforter he's pushed off his overheated body. He misses the way Rick's lips would ghost across his bare shoulder in the middle of the night and how Rick would wake him by stroking his arm and whispering in his ear.

And now he's faced with the challenge of acting like he's totally cool that Rick and Michonne have hooked up. Had it happened before the prison fell, he'd be fine. Had it happened before he and Rick had sex on the floor of that house, he'd be fine. But it didn't. It happened only 2 months after Jessie and Sam were eaten alive, which makes Carl wonder how much Rick truly cared about Jessie.

Daryl looks at him, really looks at him. Not just a quick glance with squinted eyes. Daryl gazes long and hard, absently wiping his fingers on his rag, and Carl is pulled out of his swirling thoughts.

"What?"

Daryl shakes his head. "Nothin'," he says finally.

Carl glances up at the sun and realizes that it's getting late into the afternoon and he hasn't done his PT yet. Denise says—said—that a good 10 or 15 minutes a day should help with his depth perception issues. He looks at Daryl, face unreadable. "You busy?"

"Nah."

"Wanna help me with my PT?"

He watches as Daryl freezes, caught off guard. Daryl's never really been soft so Carl braces himself for a gruff, crude response. What he receives is nothing he expects.

"Alright," Daryl says. He stuffs his rag in his back pocket and takes a few careful steps toward Carl. "What do I have to do?"

"I mean, I usually just bounce a tennis ball on the wall by myself. Dad and M-" He cuts himself short, suddenly unable to say Michonne's name fully. He's still adjusting to not being with Rick, much less adjusting to Michonne and Rick sleeping together. "It annoys them."

Daryl nods. "How 'bout we toss a ball around out here? Bring your sister; she can watch."

Carl nods and makes the quick trip into the house. The tennis ball is on his dresser where he left it; Judith is in her playpen in the living room. He snatches her up, grabs the throw blanket on the back of the couch and hollers that he's taking Judith out front.

He lays out the blanket and plops her in the middle of it, fishing the tennis ball out of his pocket. Daryl stands watching, patiently.

"I've never done this with anyone else," he disclaims. He turns the ball over and over in his fingers, trying to gather the courage to toss it. He doesn't know why he's suddenly nervous. Maybe it's Daryl or being outside or being outside because he's about to play catch with Daryl under the guise of completing physical therapy.

"You gonna throw it or not?" Daryl grumbles. But Daryl's grumbles aren't like other people's grumbles, but more of a soft encouragement, the only kind Daryl knows how to give.

Carl takes a deep breath and tossed the ball underhanded. He's about a foot and a half off but Daryl leans out, catching it perfectly with his right hand. He tosses it back.

They go back and forth like this long enough for Carl's mind to drift. He thinks about how he was foolish to think Rick would ever be with him that same way again. Maybe—maybe if Michonne hadn't survived that night, he would. But Rick's always had a certain respect for Michonne and what she thinks, so as long as she's around there's no hope of them getting back together in the foreseeable future.

Carl allows his thoughts to distract him to the point of him missing the catch and letting the ball smack the left side of his forehead.

"Shit," Daryl says, though he makes no move to see if Carl is okay.

Carl rubs at his temple before picking the ball up. "Trying to take out my other eye?" he half-jokes. It's still a sore subject. He's still adjusting.

"Hey." Daryl takes a step forward. "Don't joke about that. You alright?"

Carl laughs it off. "I'm fine," he says. But the truth of the matter is he's not; he's still devastated about the whole Rick thing.

"Have you tried shooting since—?"

"Targets, yeah."

"Nah, I mean somethin' that moves. When you start goin' out there again those walkers ain't gonna stay standin' still for you."

"My dad doesn't want me outside the walls," Carl answers. "Not alone, anyway. We can't waste bullets."

"Excuses," Daryl chimes in. "You need practice."

Carl glances at Judith on the blanket to see that she's taken to picking blades of grass. He looks back to Daryl. "I can't, our ammo's low."

"You can use my bow, dumb shit," Daryl says affectionately. He face breaks into a smile. A Daryl Dixon smile—lips in a straight line with just the corners of his mouth turned up—is a rare occurrence. Carl can count on one hand how many times he's seen one.

"Alright," Carl agrees. He scoops Judith up and sets her on his hip, tossing the blanket over his opposite shoulder. "You gonna teach me?"

"Well, how else are you gonna learn?"

"Right now?"

"We got a few." Daryl nods towards Judith. "Go put her inside and meet me at the gate."

+

Daryl is a much more patient instructor than Carl would've ever guessed. He's quiet and he watches and listens. He doesn't let Carl actually shoot yet because it's getting dark. He promises that tomorrow he'll let Carl shoot at the tree he and Enid hid in a while back.

A lone walker startles Carl and he stumbles and falls back, but Daryl is quick to grab his bow from Carl's grip and put the walker down. Carl watches from the ground, expecting Daryl to chastise him for letting his guard down. He expects a harsh "You wanna get yourself killed?!" but instead, Daryl walks over and helps him up.

"Sorry," Carl mumbles, trying to ignore the fact that his cheeks are pink with embarrassment. He brushes his jeans off and readjusts his hat.

"It's gonna take time." Daryl slings his bow over his head around to his back, gently grabbing Carl by the elbow. "We better get back; Carol's gonna be pissed if we ain't on time for dinner."

Carl forces a small fragile smile. "Yeah," he whispers.

They travel with the quiet crunch of sticks and fallen leaves under their boots. Carl's hand stays on his gun the whole time, though he has no intention of using it unless they're in grave danger that Daryl can't save them from; he doesn't want to waste bullets.

Daryl keeps looking at him, the way he did the morning after the Claimers attacked them. He knows Daryl is just trying to help the only way he knows how, and if that's looking after Carl when Rick refuses to, then, well, Carl's okay with that. They're friendly, after all, have been since Carl killed Lori at the prison. Carl likes Daryl, trusts him, feels safe with him.

They reach the gate and it opens and as soon as Carl sets a foot inside, Rick's booming voice screams, "Carl! Where the hell were you?!"

Carl jumps and before he has a chance to respond Daryl supplies, "With me."

Rick walks over so quickly that he may as well jog and grabs Carl's arm. "I told you not to go out there."

"I was with Daryl! He was teaching me to use his bow."

"We've been looking all over for you! Next time at least bother to leave a goddamn note," Rick spits, releasing his grip. "Get your ass in the house."

Carl stares at his father with wide eyes and walks into the house, head down like a scorned puppy. Daryl follows him probably a little closer than he should.

The front door is locked so Carl goes around to the back porch where Daryl catches his wrist. "Hey."

"What?"

"Sorry 'bout your dad bein' such a dick."

Carl snort-laughs to try to hide the hurt in his voice. "Yeah, me too."

"We'll shoot tomorrow, alright? I got watch at noon so we've got a few hours of daylight before then. Meet me at the gates at seven."

"You don't have to. I don't want my dad mad at you, too."

Daryl reaches out and puts a hand on Carl's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. "Everything'll be alright."

Carl nods, agreeing. "It always is."

He isn't really sure when or why the next part happens. They both take a step toward each other and Daryl's hand slides from his shoulder to Carl's hair, the other one coming to rest on Carl's hip. Carl grips the sides of Daryl's vest gently in his fingers and their mouths meet in the middle. It's soft and sweet, Carl's eye flutters closed and Daryl's hair tickles his face. They pull apart and Carl receives another Daryl Dixon smile, one that he mirrors with his own.

"See ya tomorrow?"

Carl nods. "I'll see you."

+

Carl rises early, eats an apple for breakfast and brushes his teeth. He scribbles a note (Going with Daryl, be back soon) and leaves it on the kitchen island. He grabs his jacket and slips it on and Daryl is at the gates but he doesn't seem as calm and cool as he did the day before.

"Hey," Carl calls.

"Hey," Daryl calls back. "You're gonna have to take a rain check on today; I got somethin' I need to do."

"What is it?"

"Goin' after that asshole that killed Denise with my bow. Kept thinkin' about it all night. I shoulda killed him when I had the chance."

"You gonna tell my dad at least?"

"Nah, I wanted to talk to you first. I'm goin' after him."

"Of course," Carl nods. "Yeah, it's fine." He feels his shoulders drop because of course something like this would happen just when things were looking up. He steps forward, wrapping his arms around Daryl's torso in a bold move. Daryl returns the embrace and Carl swears he feels Daryl kiss his head. They pull away and Carl smiles up at him, sqinting in the sun. "Be safe."

"I will."

"Bye, then. I'll see you when I see you," Carl says.

"I'm comin' back," Daryl reassures him. "Always do."

Carl really hopes so.


End file.
